This is Our Last Dance
by TheMollyBee
Summary: Five months are up. Wilson is giving in. House isn't too happy with that. Spoilers for season eight finale.
1. Chapter 1

"Five months. That's 150 days, give or take. Today is day 170. It's time."

Wilson sighed, adjusting a blanket over his shoulders before turning to look at the camera again.

"I'd just like to thank you all…For just existing, really. You're all such wonderful people, and I'm glad to have had the pleasure of knowing you. I couldn't have asked for a better family, or better friends. So thank you, and I'm sorry."

Wilson picked up his drink from the coaster to the side of his laptop, taking a swig of the amber liquid, pulling a face. "That's not mine." He muttered to himself.

"I'm not sorry that I'm dying. Really, it's time for me to go, and I'm glad I'm strong enough to do this. I'm not sorry that I've not achieved anything, because I've achieved lots. I've saved lives. I'm climbed metaphorical, and recently literal mountains." He gave a small smile to the camera.

"I'm sorry because I've lied. I've done something kind of illegal. Definitely illegal, actually. I've… Well, you'll know soon enough what I helped to do. I'm sorry that I'm giving up now instead of waiting for this to kill me. It's a miracle it hasn't already. I'm sorry I haven't seen any of you for the last five months. I'm sorry that I haven't kept in contact as well as I'd have liked. I'm so-"

The door opened.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Wilson hit save on the video he was recording, and closed his laptop with a swift movement.

"Watching porn without me? I'm insulted." House limped away from the front door, hanging his cane from the ceiling, and flopped down next to Wilson on the couch.

"Gimme your blanket, I wanna spoon."

"House!"

"Hey, I've had a long day at work, I just want to cuddle with my wifey."

"We're in Vegas. You only had a hard day if they stopped serving you at the bar. And I'm not your 'wifey', who do you think you are, some kind of rapper?"

"No, actually I'm Justin Bieber. See this pure face? What a comparison."

Wilson looked up at House, taking in the shaved head, and the beard he'd grown over the course of the five months, and dyed ginger over the last week or so.

"Yes, you both have the same hairstyle and girlish good looks, however did I miss it?" Wilson deadpanned.

"You were overcome by my beauty. Don't worry, that's the normal reaction. So, sweetie pie, were you Skyping mother dearest or something, and that's why you're drinking my bourbon?"

"Yes, House, I was so overcome with guilt about running off with you that I decided I should just become you instead."

"No need to be so sarcastic, god." House stood up, shooting Wilson a devilish grin. "I won't give you your present if you're mean to me."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, coughing as he did so. House chucked him a small bag.

"Heroin?" Wilson spluttered.

"Whoops, no, that's mine. Here." House swapped the little bags. "Morphine. Much more to your taste."

"I won't even ask about the heroin. I give up. I'm going to sleep now. See you tomorrow." Wilson rolled over, turning away from House.

"Baby, it's not really heroin. I'd never do that to you, snugglepuffs!"

Wilson laughed, but it ached so he stopped.

"Quit with the nicknames or I'll kill you."

"I'd like to see you try, my delicate maiden. You couldn't kill a fly right now."

"Score, I'm House's 'delicate maiden'. That's one to cross off the bucket list."

"Too far. Now sleep or I'll strangle you."

* * *

**Uh, this is physics revision, I promise.**

**My new addition to failing my GCSEs.**

**This'll have a bunch more chapters floating in at times when I should be revising.**

**What, the House finale hit me hard.**


	2. Chapter 2

"I hope you're not crying. You should be watching this at my funeral, if all goes to plan. God that sounds weird still. Funeral plans. I'm not even fifty. But it's time. I know I said that yesterday, but there were things I had to do. I couldn't… I have to do his alone."

Wilson sighed, shivering a little through his two sweaters.

"I couldn't do this to him. I couldn't ask him to help, because he would. He would help me end my life, but I cannot get him into any more trouble than he's already in, and I would like to mention that so there are witnesses. He has no idea. Well, actually, he probably does. It is him after all. God, I'm so sorry."

He wiped a tear from his cheek. Just the one. He'd cried enough at the beginning, he wasn't going to bow out in floods of tears.

"He's going to do the right thing and hand himself in once this is over. He probably thinks I've forgotten that he promised to do so. I couldn't forget. He's probably sitting with you, if they've let him come… Oh god, he won't be able to come. Crap."

Two tears was the limit. He was not going to cry properly.

"I thought he'd be there to make jokes about how pathetic I'm being. He means it in a good way, deep down. Deep, deep down, he's actually a truly decent guy. He's someone I'm proud to have known, someone I've spent the best times in my life with. House, I'm sorry, and I love you. Don't crash your car into anything after I've gone."

Wilson stopped the recording, and then watched the two clips through. He saved it, and left it open for House to find when he came back. He knew it wouldn't be a big enough apology, but he was not going to let this thing kill him slowly anymore. His time was up.

House approached the front door to their apartment. They'd lived there for the last month. Before then, they'd gone all over the country under different aliases, always incognito. Wilson was getting too weak anymore. House knew the time would end soon. Wilson would die, and he'd hand himself over with faking his death added onto his sentence. That would be fun.

He could hear "Under Pressure" finish, and then begin again.

"You know, I could never figure out which of us was the Bowie and which was Freddie Mercury."

House walked in as he spoke, opening his mouth to explain his reasons for Wilson clearly being Freddie Mercury when he saw him.

Still, pale, slumped in such a way that House knew instantaneously that he wasn't asleep, even before he looked at the now empty bottle of Vicodin in Wilson's palm.

"That's my poison, not yours. You did that deliberately, didn't you? Always fucking self-sacrificing. I hate you, best bud. I really do." House curled up next to Wilson's cooling body, brushed the hair off his forehead and planted a singular kiss to it.

"Wait for me."


	3. Chapter 3

The funeral of James Wilson was a sad affair, as most funerals are. An old photo of him pulling a stupidly cheesy grin rested on the coffin. His ex-colleagues filled the room. His mother was crying into a handkerchief that had been handed to her by the man next to her.

Said man was dressed in a garish orange jumpsuit that clashed with the tips of his growing-out beard, his hands cuffed behind his back, his head bowed.

Said man was extremely thankful he'd even been allowed to attend the funeral. He just wasn't happy with how many people were focused on him instead of the entire point for them being here. He wasn't going to make a scene. Did they really think he was going to attempt to run out, cuffed and guarded and as blatant as he looked?

Said man was grimacing at the ground, ignoring the look of what he supposed was sympathy from his former employees and the rest of… the rest of that lot he worked with.

It seemed that everyone Wilson had ever met was gathered to pay their respects. Patients he'd saved. Families of patients he hadn't saved, but had really desperately tried to, because that was the kind of guy ol' Jim was. Doctors he'd met at conferences. People he'd accidentally bumped into once on the street, probably.

Yes, Wilson was a wonderful man, and House made sure to let his corpse know as he shuffled forward to the coffin and whispered the House equivalent to sweet nothings.

"You bastard." He bowed his head and kissed the black painted wood of the coffin. "I'll see you soon."

Gregory House died that night.

* * *

**Oh, I finished.**

**Sad/bad ending, I know, I'm sorry.  
**

**This is dedicated to the person who encouraged me to finish. You know who you are.**

**If anyone actually cares, I was moaning about failing my GCSEs on the first chapter, but I did not fail at all for anything.**

**This fic being physics revision paid off. I got a B!**


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